Love Bites
by BelieveYouAre
Summary: Kyle Broflovski is sick, and the doctors say it's just the flu. Too bad it isn't really a sickness at all. It's a curse, and with the help of his two best friends, Kenny and Stan, it's something that must be overcome. Slash/K2
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park, no matter how much I wish I did. All character rights go to the show's writers and creators.**

_**Also, they aren't in fourth grade in this story. They're all about sixteen now, and in high school.**_

Kyle looked sick. Like, really, really sick.

His face was pale, paler than usual. His shoulders were slumped as if it was too much effort to even keep his spine straight, and his eyes were watery and unfocused, with dark, tired smudges under them.

Kenny looked at him observantly, watching for any sign that he might fall over at random. Stan was also watching him, careful to stay close, just to be safe. Cartman was too busy blabbing about his latest idea to invest in his own business to notice the redhead's lack of attention.

Kenny's hood rested on his shoulders as he moved toward Kyle, putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Hey, dude. Are you okay? You like you're gonna be sick."

Kyle seemed to snap out of some sort of daydream, turning his head to look at Kenny, he replied: "Yeah, yeah. It's probably just a cold or something. I—" His eyes widened. He clutched his stomach, doubling over. Vomit spewed from his mouth, spilling onto the ground and filling the air with its putrid stench.

"Ew!" Cartman screeched, finally noticing Kyle's ill appearance. "The Jew puked!"

"Shut up, fata*s!" Stan yelled.

Kenny helped Kyle regain a somewhat stable posture as he stood, swaying on his feet. The redhead wiped his mouth with a shaky hand. "C'mon, Kyle." Kenny said gently, wrapping an arm around his waist. Stan put his arm around Kyle's shoulder, and they took a step away from Cartman, and closer to Kyle's house.

When they took the first step, though, Kyle's legs gave out from underneath him, sending him to the ground.

Luckily, Stan and Kenny managed to grab the small boy's arms before he collapsed. _"Ugh…"_ Kyle groaned, his head lolling forward.

Stan looked at Kenny worriedly. "Sh*t, dude. He's really sick."

Kenny shook his hair out of his face, nodding his head. "I know, I know. Where should we take him? If we take him to his house, his mom's gonna go berserk—"

Stan sighed. "Yeah, she is. But we have to take him home. It might have something to do with his kidney or Diabetes or something like that. His mom might actually know what's wrong with him. I mean, he just went from, like, Flu-sick to passing out sick in less than a minute."

Kenny gathered Kyle up in his arms. His became edgy with worry as he saw the state of his close friend. Kyle stared unfocusedly at nothing through half-lidded eyes, weakly grasping Kenny's orange parka with small hands.

The friends hurried away from their bus stop, heading toward Kyle's house. By the time they had reached their destination, Kyle's face was flushed with a fever, but nonetheless, he was shivering as if it was zero degrees outside. Kyle whimpered softly. Scarlet strands of his hair hung over his forehead, having escaped his bright green ushanka hat.

Stan knocked harshly against the door, repeatedly ringing the doorbell and tapping his foot impatiently. Shuffling came from behind the door, followed by the sound of locks being undone. The door finally opened to reveal the eleven year old Ike, Kyle's little brother, looking at them questionably. His eyes landed on the fevered Kyle.

Stan pushed past Ike, already going to wet a washcloth and get a thermometer. Kenny raised an eyebrow at Ike. "Is your mom home?"

Ike shook his head. "Er, no. Uh, what's wrong with Kyle?" he breathed.

Kenny followed Ike upstairs to Kyle's bedroom, explaining what had happened.

When they reached Kyle's room, Stan practically flew through the door with a cool, damp washcloth in one hand and a thermometer in the other.

Kenny lied Kyle down on top of his comforter, pulling a green throw over blanket across the lower half of the shivering boy's body. "Jeez, Stan," he said. "Calm down."

Stan stopped bouncing on his feet, but still pushed the small glass thermometer past Kyle's lips and under his tongue. The blue-capped boy tapped his finger against the wall, silently counting to thirty in his head.

After thirty seconds, he pulled the glass piece out, reading the numbers. Fear began to add an edge to Stan's face. He looked up at Ike and Kenny. "One o' four point eight, that's bad, isn't it." He didn't even bother to state it as a question, he just stated it as a fact.

They all knew that it was bad.

"Ike, where's your mom?" Stan asked.

Ike sighed. "She left for work a few minutes ago. She's probably not even there, yet. I could call her…?" he suggested.

Stan nodded his head wordlessly. Ike dug in his back pocket for his cell phone. Flipping it open, he quickly punched in his mother's number, and prepared for the worst.

"Hey, mom? Can you come home? Kyle's not feeling good." He paused, waiting for an answer. "Over one hundred," Ike flinched, pulling the phone away from his ear. "Yeah, Mom, calm down. Stan and Kenny are here, too…yeah, they brought him home…he threw up…okay…okay, see you in a few minutes…love you, too…bye."

Stan put the damp washcloth on Kyle's forehead, and the boys stood in an awkward silence, with the exceptions of Kyle's whimpers and groans, until they heard a door slam. The sound of heels clomping up the stairs made them all stiffen, readying themselves for the mothering that was to come.

The door flew open, hitting the opposite wall and bouncing back slightly. Kyle and Ike's mother, with her redheaded up-do, stood in the doorway. She waddled over to the bed with a cry of, "Bubbleh!"

Her hand felt along Kyle's cheek and forehead, knocking off the washcloth and making him groan. Without a look or word to the other boys, she grabbed the thermometer from the bedside table, and stuck it in her son's mouth.

After the thirty second mark, she pulled it out, just as Stan had done, and gave a small gasp of breath as she read the numbers.

"One o' five point three. Oh, my poor baby!" she fussed. "That's it. I'm taking him to a doctor."

The boys each shared a knowing, fearful glance. How had the temperature gone up that fast, in that short amount of time?

They had no idea.

**So, there it is! Chapter one is up and ready! Chapter two will be up tomorrow. So, please review! Also, sorry if it's short. I just wrote it as an introduction to the story, and by the next chapter, they'll get longer. And it's my first South Park slash, so sorry if it's not that good!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park. All credit goes to its original owners.**

**A/N: Sorry about the super long delay. Here's chapter two!**

…**.**

_**STAN'S POV**_

Sheila had taken him to Hells Pass.

We barely made it through the doors. With broken bones, people that needed stitches, and others who needed surgery or treatment, they didn't exactly have time for a kid with a fever and flu-like systems.

So they checked him out, said he had the flu, prescribed him some fancy type of cold medicine, and sent us on our way.

Sheila had ushered us out of her car the second we had gotten back to their house, babbling on about Kyle needing rest. We left, but not before I carried Kyle up to his room.

And now I couldn't stop pacing.

Kenny sat at my computer desk, rolling a pencil back and forth between his fingers while giving me an attained expression.

"You saw him, Kenny." I said in an exasperated tone. "He did _not _have the flu. Sure, he gets sick a lot. And I mean _a lot, _but he's never been like that. Never. Nada. As in, this is the first time." Okay, so I admit, maybe I was being a bit melodramatic, and maybe I was over thinking things, but I just had this nauseas, cold feeling pooling in the pit of my stomach, as if I _knew _that something bad was going to happen.

Soon.

"Okay, look." Kenny said, drawing my attention away from my thoughts and over to him. "If you're really so worried that you can't sit down, then I guess we can sneak up to his room later tonight, okay? We probably can't get through his window until, like, ten, but after that, his mom should be asleep and Kyle will be knocked out."

I nodded my head, a bit shakily.

"Hey," Kenny chirped. "Can I crash here, tonight?"

"Sure," I sighed.

I wouldn't know until that night how much I really needed Kenny's help.

_.…__**Time skip**__…_

_**Third Person POV**_

"Die, die, DIE!" Stan screamed.

"Shut up, Stan!" Kenny shouted, even though he was sitting right next to me. "You're gonna mess me up! I—ahh!" Kenny's voice broke off into a scream of frustration as a Smoker attacked him from the back.

"Damn it, Stan—get it off me!" he screeched.

You gotta love video games.

Kenny and Stan had decided to play a few hours of Left 4 Dead to pass the time. After Stan had stopped pacing, of course.

Suddenly, Stan heard something, almost like the rattle of cans, coming from the direction of the kitchen. He wouldn't be worried, but his parents were not home, and so there was no explanation to who could be there. Shelly was at college, and his grandfather had rolled off a bridge the first chance he got.

"Kenny?" Stan asked softly. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" he replied blankly, his attention still focused on the animated zombies that flew his way.

"I think there's someone in the kitchen."

Kenny paused the game, turning and raising a questioning eyebrow at Stan. "Dude, are you sure? I thought your parents weren't home. Didn't they go see the new Broadway show in New York?"

Stan nodded slowly. "Yeah—that's why I'm worried!" he hissed under his breath.

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Fine, dude if you're sur—"

His sentence was cut off by the sound of scratching and banging, like someone was trying to break in.

Kenny and Stan exchanged a fearful glance, each boy equally terrified of what might be outside—or inside. Dropping their Xbox controllers onto the couch, they carefully moved toward the kitchen, wincing at any creek of the wood, even a whisper of a sound.

As they reached the door, they froze.

In the window of Stan's back door was Kyle. Blood matted his cheeks and weighed his hair down, running down his neck to gather on the collar of his trademark orange coat. His green ushanka was roughly pulled over his head, stray red curls hanging over his forehead. The redhead's small figure was shaking, he was swaying on his feet.

"Jesus, Kyle!" Kenny gasped, already moving toward the door. Stan hurried after him, a bit less active and more numb than the blonde.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Kenny fussed. He ushered the small boy inside, but Kyle did not move. He stayed where he was, still and unmoving. His eyes stayed focused on Kenny, though. It was almost as if he was plotting something in his head. It didn't even seem that he was breathing. Kyle's breath made a sharp sound, almost a whine, as it hitched in his throat.

His lip curled in a snarl, revealing his glimmering teeth.

His usually perfect white teeth were red with blood, dark and unnatural. His canine teeth were narrowed to sharp points, nearly cutting into his bottom lip. Light reflected off of his red tinted, sharp incisors, almost mesmerizing to watch.

He lunged.

Although Kyle was a small, thin boy, he somehow managed to knock Kenny off his feet, sending them both crashing to the ground. Kyle straddled his waist as the blonde's face became stoic with the edge of fear.

"K-Ky?" he stammered.

Stan couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but watch as his super best friend's bloody, ajar mouth grew closer to Kenny's face.

"St-Stan?" he called, careful not to move in spite of being bitten. "A little help, here?"

But still, he could not move.

Taking in a deep breath, and realizing that Stan would be no help, Kenny decided on another tactic.

"_Kyle Broflovski! Get the hell of off me, you sh*t-faced c*ck sucker!" _Kenny boomed.

It was surprising that the entire house didn't shake from the tremendous sound of his scream.

Kyle froze directly above Kenny's face. His face twisted in confusion, his eyebrows pulling together in puzzlement. The bloody boy was suddenly all too aware of Kenny's fearful face mere inches from his own. His eyes widened as images and recognition flooded into his mind. He remembered everything that had happened, though, he wished that he didn't.

The Jew scrambled off of his blonde friend, tears wetting his eyes. "Oh my God," he whispered, his voice shaky. "K-Kenny? I-I-I—" he broke into sobs. Kyle pressed the back of his hand to his mouth in an attempt to hush his cries.

Kenny sat up cautiously. His eyes were wide with shock as he watched Kyle break down, still covered with blood and now with tears running down his pink tinged cheeks. After a moment of hesitation, he slowly scooted across the floor and pulled the shaking boy into his arms. "Uh…" Kenny stroked Kyle's hair awkwardly, whispering soothing words into the boy's ear. Kyle hid his face in the blonde's chest, his back heaving from the force of his sobs.

` "I-I'm sorry," Kyle choked.

"Shh," Kenny hushed. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not (unfortunately) own any of the South Park characters. All character rights go to Trey Parker and Matt Stone, their rightful creators. I just own this story. Hmmf... **

The small redhead's sobs had yet to cease, his whimpers muffled only by Kenny's orange parka.

Kenny pulled Kyle closer to him, wrapping his arm loosely around the shaking boy. He brushed his shaggy blonde hair away from his eyes, and shot a sad look to Stan, who had yet to move from the doorway.

"Go get a washcloth," he told the noirette.

Stan nodded solemnly, heading off in the direction of the bathroom.

Seeming as the crying boy would not be able to stand on his own, Kenny stood and gathered Kyle up in his arms. He set the redhead down on the counter. Kyle's eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, an obvious sign that he had been crying. The tear tracks on his cheeks had washed away some of the blood, but not all.

There was so damn much of it.

"Kyle," Kenny asked softly. "What happened to you?"

"I don't know _why _I did it," he suddenly cried. "I-I just felt something, like, something in my head. It was telling me to do it, it told me to, I swear. I didn't w-want to! But once I started I just couldn't stop because it tasted _so damn good, _even—even though I knew it was wrong, it was so freaking wrong. And—and after…after, I just wanted more, and I came here and—"

Kenny hushed him, peeling a small flake of dried blood away from the corner of his mouth. "I need to know what happened, Kyle. What did you do that was so wrong?"

"I—I killed someone," Kyle choked. "And I drank th-their blood."

Kenny's eyes widened to the size of saucers, but he tried to somewhat conceal his shock, as to not startle the whimpering boy further.

Stan walked back into the kitchen, a wet washcloth in his right hand. He sensed the tense atmosphere immediately. Moving to stand beside Kenny, he raised his eyebrows in question and pressed the cloth into the blonde's waiting hand.

"Take off your hat and jacket," Kenny instructed softly.

Kyle complied. Kenny rubbed the washcloth up and down Kyle's arms, washing away any stray patches of blood and dirt.

"Explain it to me," Kenny said.

Kyle took a deep, shuddering breath.

"W-well, I was still in my room, feeling like utter crap, when I just started to feel restless. I was itchy everywhere; I felt like scratching my skin off because of how bad it was. But- but I also felt—I felt—_hungry. _So, before I even knew what I was doing, I was outside, walking down the street and twitching like Tweek. Th-there was some guy outside, too, only like a few feet away from me, just whistling to himself. The next thing I remember is him underneath me, and he—he wasn't _moving. _There was—there was _b-blood in my mouth_, and I threw up all over the sidewalk. He was dead," Kyle sobbed.

"I panicked," he continued. "I left the guy there and ran here. But as soon as I got here, I just froze, like, right in your backyard. The next thing I remember after that is Kenny calling me a sh*t-faced c*ck sucker," he finished sharply.

Kenny shot him a sheepish, yet hesitant, smile, but was too shocked to speak.

Kyle rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, dragging his hands across his wet, reddened cheeks to dry his tears. Suddenly, his face tightened in a grimace, and I felt a flash of panic jolt my heart. But Kyle only hopped off the counter, landing on the balls of his feet and swaying or a moment. He took off in the direction of the bathroom, mumbling about feeling nauseas.

Kenny watched the redheaded boy run off with a sullen expression. He was confused, he was repulsed, he was panicked but more than anything, he was _scared. _He was scared for himself, he was scared for Kyle, Hell, he was even scared _of _Kyle, but he had a tight feeling in his gut that Kyle was sharing the same feelings. None of them knew what was going on. They were all scared. It was all scary.

All of it.

Kenny caught Stan's weary look and returned it with a sympathetic one. He knew that Stan was worried about his super best friend, they both were, but they both knew that Kyle just needed them to be there, now.

And so he decided that whatever it was that they had to find out could wait until morning.


End file.
